


Contour

by beckk



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vacation AU, it's like a meet cute but they're both sweating their asses off and covered in sand?, more will be tagged as it comes up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:20:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckk/pseuds/beckk
Summary: The bi-annual Rutherford Family Vacation has officially arrived, and Cullen's none too pleased to be there. A chance encounter on the beach changes his outlook on the coming week, but amid family drama and self doubt, it's all he can do to keep his head afloat. The (self admitted) devilishly handsome man that keeps bumping into him is doing an admirable job of keeping him sane, but can Cullen get his act together in time before the week is out?





	Contour

Cullen wakes with something close to dread in his stomach. It’s that restless roiling that he always gets the night before big events- even something as mundane as a field trip had sent his stomach into turmoil as a child. And even 30 years later, grown and more than capable of overcoming his anxieties, here he was, upset stomach and all. It sits heavy, and the lack of sleep it causes makes the bags under his eyes feel all the more pronounced as he stares in the mirror. He’s in that dreadful in-between of sleepfulness and awakeness, where everything feels detached from the self. But his bag is already packed from the night before, so all there is to do is take a quick shower and force his curls into barely-there submission. Brush his teeth, throw on comfortable clothes, shovel his things into his car, and then off he went. To the airport. 

 

His stomach has settled by now, despite the fact there’s still a whole day of travel ahead, and even though his phone won’t stop buzzing where he threw it in the console, he still doesn’t feel that weight in his stomach. Traveling was good. He was good at traveling. It was almost a little concerning, how he was more looking forward to the trip than to getting to his actual destination. Because when he got there… well. There’d be family to juggle, and family drama on top of that, and somehow or another he still couldn’t fathom how they’d convinced him this was a good idea. But he had been traveling for most of his adult life, had it done to a science by now, and could switch his mind off and just enjoy going through the motions. 

 

Did that say something weird about him? He mulls it over as he pulls into the long term parking lot, weighing whether he even wants to contemplate his own intricacies as he hauls his backpack out and onto his back. Locks the car, makes sure to note which row he’s parked in, and then he’s hauling his way toward where the shuttle will take him up to the airport at large. The sun still hasn’t made its way out into the world at large, so he stares at all the orange lights blooming across the landscape as lights and people whiz by. Maybe it was a little weird that traveling calmed him down so much. 

 

He’d practically been raised in the backseat, his parents shuttling them all down to their grandparents once a year,  sometimes off to an aunt or an uncle. And then as time had gone by, they’d started flying instead, the convenience of it far outweighing the cost to buy six tickets. Even after he’d left for basic training, he was always flying or driving all over kingdom come. And now as a consultant, sometimes he’d fly somewhere for a week. So it didn’t feel that strange, that he’d grown accustomed to traveling. But to  _ enjoy _ it? To find peace in the solitude of being a face among hundreds, shuffling in and out of crowded terminals? It seemed a little far fetched, even for him. 

 

Cullen’s stuck on that thought for much of the morning, even after he’s made it through security, grabbed a cup of coffee and a pastry ( _ technically _ his vacation started yesterday when he got off work) and forced himself to sit down three rows back from his gate. He checks his watch, still resolutely ignoring his phone and the almost incessant chatter of his family’s group chat, and finds himself with forty minutes to drift in and out of consciousness. Bag slung on the ground between his legs and coffee perched on his thigh, he thinks on little more than what songs to skip as his traveling playlist soldiers on. 

He drifts for much of the plane ride, eyes closed and body perilously perched between the people spilling over the armrest on either side of him, and the next thing he knows he’s made it to Miami and his connecting flight. There’s still more than an hour before they start boarding, so he moves at his own leisure through the terminal, eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face and only finding it once he’s arrived at his gate. 

 

“Cullen!” Someone shouts over the din, and it’s only a  _ slightly _ forced smile that graces his lips when he turns to see Mia waving him down, one child clinging to her shoulder and the twins play-fighting off to the side, where her husband watches with tired eyes. He shuffles over, sliding easily into her waiting arm, and presses a kiss on her cheek. “Mia.” He returns, anxieties about the coming days momentarily forgotten in the wake of his niece’s smiling face. “Flight alright?” He asked, lifting his gaze from where Elle was clutching at his hand and stepping away to take in Mia’s only slightly haggard appearance. 

 

“Alright is a word for it.” Mia muses, lips pursing as she finally passed Elle into his waiting arms. Sebastian looks up from where the twins are still squabbling in front of him, offering a quiet smile and a wave of his hand, as was his wont. If Cullen was quiet, then Sebastian was downright shy in comparison. Which said a lot, actually. Cullen smiles back, hiking Elle further up on his hip as he slid his backpack off and into the seat next to Sebastian, earning himself a crowed “Uncle Cullen!” from Leah and Jack. He pats both on the head, ruffling hair, and lets Mia’s recounting of their morning thus far wash over him. 

 

They’re not seated close, a couple rows apart, actually, but Cullen’s not complaining all that much. It’ll be one last reprieve before they make it to Grand Cayman, and then he’ll be fighting to keep his head above water for an entire week. Elle bounces on his knee as he sits and catches up with Mia and her husband, checking in on anything he might have missed since the last time Mia had called, a month ago. She was good about that- checking in on him almost monthly, without making it seem like a choking thing, like their mother. She kept the gap between them meticulously bridged and open, even if they lived twelve hours apart. And Cullen appreciated that, god, did he - it just wasn’t going to save him from the crush of his family. 

 

He relinquishes his hold on Elle when it’s time to board and somehow manages to wait in line and then find his way to his seat without the same trembling stomach from this morning catching up to him. It doesn’t find him until they’re disembarking an hour and a half later, when the humidity finds him out on the tarmac, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he stares out at the ocean cordoned off behind chain link fence behind them. Mia calls to him again, the little family already closing in on the door into the airport, and Cullen jogs to catch up. They’d been nice enough to offer him a seat in the rental, and he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

 

“We’ve still got four hours until anybody else lands,” Mia is saying as he pulls up behind her and Sebastian, Jack darting up and tugging at his hand until he finally gave in and swings the boy around, their customary greeting that Jack must have decided had been put off long enough. Cullen nods, making eye contact before Mia continues. “So I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking a nap is in order.” She shoots a pointed look to where Sebastian and Elle both are flagging, her husband’s eyes sliding closed as he basked in the light that filtered through the wall-length windows next to the baggage claim. Cullen laughs, dry and emotionless. “No complaints from me.” He mumbles, already reaching forward to help her pull their checked bag off the carousel. 

 

He’s already thinking ahead, lips twitching down to a frown. “I’ll stop in with the concierge and make sure they’ve got space for us at dinner.” He offers, an olive branch of sorts. Mia takes it at face value, no doubt knows it means Cullen’ll scout out the restaurant and ensure he’s in at least vaguely familiar territory for when all nineteen of them descend upon him. And besides, if he at least makes a token effort the first night, it’ll be easier to sneak away for the rest of the trip. 

 

She doesn’t say anything to that, thankfully, and Cullen stows all the doubts away like he would a bag in the overhead bin. Right. Just one dinner, and then he could make himself scarce for the rest of the week. Hopefully they’d all be as absorbed in soaking in the sun and fun as they always were on these family trips, and he could get away with camping out on the beach for a week straight and drinking his worries away. 

 

It’s not until they’re all packed away in the rental and driving toward the resort that the anxiety finally catches up with him. Which, honestly, is such a silly fucking thing. He almost gets  _ angry _ with himself, knuckles white where they clutch at his knees in the back seat. Leah and Jack are sniping back and forth across his lap, Elle dozing in the farthest row back, and he cannot believe he’s jealous of a fucking three year old, but here he is, wishing feebly that he’d chosen to sit there instead. “You two weren’t  _ nearly _ this vicious at Thanksgiving.” Cullen grumbles, trying hard to tamp down on the nerves that are bucking up like scared horses. 

 

He’s about five seconds away from throwing himself down and kissing the pavement when they pull up at the resort, but just the thought of embarrassing himself that badly in front of the bellhops keeps him upright, clutching at his backpack and herding the kids in while Mia and Sebastian focused on their fifty pieces of luggage. The receptionists smile and coo at him when he walks in, won over by the kids and putting on their best faces. He’s about halfway through checking himself in when they finally join him, their luggage piled high on the luggage cart and a bellhop smiling politely at him when he looks their way. “Are you sure you don’t want to switch? We can move you closer, if you’d like.” The receptionist is saying, and the smile he gives her is real when he shakes his head. She’d taken one look at the long list of Rutherfords on her terminal and then informed him he was in the farthest building from the lobby they had, none of the others placed remotely near him. Mia shoots him a disbelieving look, and he grins fierce and glad at her. 

 

Maybe he’d have a good vacation, after all. Poor old Cullen, shuffled off to the back and  _ hopefully _ forgotten by the others. It was a blessing in disguise, he thinks, watching on in muffled contentment as Sebastian checked them in. Leah and Jack are clinging to both his arms, and he alternates lifting them up and then plopping them back down, their little feet swinging and their laughter infectious. “You want to grab lunch after we put our stuff down?” Mia asks him, looking at the twins with fondness. He shrugs, impartial. It’s not yet hit noon, but an early lunch doesn’t strike him as a bad idea. Better to enjoy himself while he can, before the rest of their family descended on the place like a pack of rabid dogs. They depart just after the second building, turning into the room and waving Cullen away with a promise to meet back up at one of the restaurants back by the lobby. He whistles as he walks, thoroughly pleased with himself and offering greetings to those that pass him by. When he finally throws his door open and is greeted by the gust of cool air from the A/C unit, he almost melts with joy. 

 

He takes the time to unpack his bag, shuffling clothes away into the tall set of drawers, staring at his reflection in the TV that sits atop it all the while. Next he plugs his charger into the outlet next to the bed, and then decides to forgo the safe and instead put his laptop on the little table off by the window, two chairs sitting on either side and turned slightly to face the sliding glass door. He moves for that next, toiletries forgotten atop the computer as he steps out onto the balcony, taking in deep breaths of the briny air. The walls are pushed far enough out on either side that he can’t see into either of the neighboring balconies. All he can see is a thin slice of beach before him, though when he leans onto the railing and turns his head he can see down the length of the resort, buildings sitting staggered and brightly colored amid the lush greenery and smooth sand. Cullen smiles to himself, watching the people walking around the pool and down the different sidewalks, living their lives and enjoying themselves. 

 

It’s remarkably quiet, all things considered. Someone had made an offhand comment about this being the off season, but he hadn’t paid them much attention at the time. Now it’s fairly obvious, the way the resort is alive but not overly full. It’s relaxing, actually, even if the fear of the future sits like a heavy cloud over his head. The resort was big enough, and far enough spread out, that he could probably get away with avoiding his family for most of the time. They typically did their own thing, each of them breaking away over the course of the week, and he would just have to hope the pattern from the past few trips would continue. He didn’t think he’d be able to survive otherwise. He steps back in with a snort, looking back to the bed where his phone is buzzing up a storm. 

 

He picks it up, expecting to see the family group chat blowing up, but finds instead that Cassandra and Varric have taken to texting him on and off. He rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone and reading through the group message. Cassandra’s checking in on him, Varric teasing her for caring at all, and Cullen laughs a little as he thumbs out that he was fine, thank you, and looking forward to some relaxation. Cassandra’s gone above and beyond as his friend and sponsor, and he can already tell that she’s going to suggest a call later in the week. He gives it two days before she broaches the topic. Varric, meanwhile, has started requesting pics. 

 

He’s still smiling down at his phone when he finally slides his keycard into his wallet and steps out of the room, clicking a few pictures of the beach and grounds at large as he walks back up to the main building. The hub is quiet compared to the pool, and he slides his phone into his pocket and pokes his head into the uninhibited restaurant. Mia waves him over, and he slides into a seat between her and Elle with a quiet smile. “All unpacked?” He teases, smile widening when Mia merely rolls her eyes at him and shoves the menu up to hide her face. He lets her off the hook for now, Elle emphatically smacking at his arm. By the time they order and the food comes out the tension in his spine has released a little, that little rain cloud hovering over him forgotten for a time. They eat in relative silence, the kids chattering away all around them, and when they finish they stay at the table for longer than strictly necessary, soaking in the light where it falls across their seats and talking with an ease he hasn’t felt in months. 

 

After longer than was strictly necessary, they make their way out toward the pools. The midday sun finds it relatively quiet, most guests dispersing to grab lunch or retire from the heat. They pull a few loungers together, sitting and staring out at the pool and the beach beyond it, where Leah and Jack have made quick work of making friends and setting up a game of tag. Elle lays curled up against his stomach, Sebastian cooing and taking photos while he tries to avoid grinning like a sappy bastard. For a moment, there’s peace and quiet, and Cullen dozes, the toddler a warm weight on his chest. 

 

Then with sudden sharpness hands are rubbing through his hair, startling him awake. He swats at whoever’s behind him, and even before he turns to look he knows exactly who it is. Rosalie peers down at him, grinning victoriously as she crows out a hello to all and sundry. Their parents stand off to the side, saying hello to Mia and Sebastian, and Branson is pulling up too, smiling apologetically as their aunts and uncles appear right behind him. He can’t control the pained groan that escapes him, though thankfully he can pretend it was because of Rosalie pulling hard on his cheek. “And what do we have  _ here _ ?” She’s asking, leaning over him and smiling at Elle as she fusses on his chest, startled awake by his sudden jerk upward. “Maudlin old man, falling asleep in public? What will people  _ think _ ?” She doesn’t curtail the venom in her voice, though it’s meant to be teasing more than biting. 

 

Cullen sighs gustily, pushing her away with a hand to her face. “Y’know, for a college student, you’re not very mature half the time.” He grumbles, which nets him another peel of laughter as she steps away, letting Branson replace her. He claps a hand on Cullen’s forearm, pulling him up and then hugging him once he’s standing. He shifts Elle up onto a hip, smiling placidly enough as a veritable conga line of Rutherford's all parade around to hug and kiss and say their hellos. 

 

By the time everyone said hello to all the necessary parties, Elle’s a squirming bundle in his hands and the sun is starting to set. The resort is bathed in warm oranges and yellows, and he focuses on that instead of on the rise and fall of the conversation around him. They were making plans to all put their stuff down and then reconvene for dinner around the time he zoned out. It’s easier to take a few steps away and calm Elle down, whispering to her about the beach and how pretty the sunset was until she finally stopped fussing. He turns in time to see everyone parting ways, heading off to the rooms. Mia looks over, then, face light and open. She arches a brow at him, questioning, but he says nothing as he makes his way back. “Want to head to the restaurant, or wait here?” She asks, tilting her head up at him while Sebastian rangles the kids. She was always good like that, letting him pick based on his comfort level. 

 

He motions her ahead with a jerk of his chin, moving Elle from his hip up to his shoulders. Her shoes dig in uncomfortably to the skin there, but he ignores it, staring straight ahead instead. He’s running a plan through his head, like maybe if he prepares himself for the onslaught of noise and prying questions he can avert disaster. It’s a habit Cassandra had taught him, recognizing the way anxiety and fear bubbled up any time he went into something blind. Elle babbles above him, and he uses that to ground him, the incessant chatter. 

 

And if he makes sure Mia is on one side of him and the kids are on the other when they’re seated, well, nobody needs to know it was intentional other than him. He makes himself focus on the menu, first, reading over it and picking out his meal, and then on distracting Elle, who’s trying to scribble on the coloring sheet Sebastian's pulled out for her with gusto. Leah and Jack are squabbling again on Elle’s far side, and he focuses on that, next, listening in but letting their father break it up when their words get heated. Mia’s watching him, he can tell, but before she can work up to whatever painfully aware thing she was going to say, the first of their family shows up. 

 

They fill the room up with their chatter, and were he younger, perhaps he’d still be a little embarrassed by that. He remembers sitting there in the early days of their family vacations, bitterly embarrassed by the way their voices were always just a touch too loud, scaring everyone away with their boisterous conversations. Now he’s just too tired to care, doesn’t even bother looking around for the pointed glares and the families shuffling away. They make it all the way through ordering then digging into dinner itself before anyone thinks to ask after him, and by that point he’s gotten himself calmed down enough that he can grin through the discomfort and act like everything’s fine. 

 

His parents are all too aware of how his life’s been going, and Rosalie’s too distracted by Branson’s kid to needle him, but his aunts and uncles all peer over curiously when Uncle Jonathan asks how he’s been doing. “Better,” he says, and means it. The last time they’d gone on vacation, he’d barely been started sobering up, and the time before that, he’d been fresh out of the forces. He’s much better off now, and it must show because no one says much of anything, just smile and nod and wait for more. “The new job’s going well, though I could do without all the jetlag.” Cullen admits, smiling self deprecatingly. Derek and Janelle look on, nodding their sympathy, and even when he looks over at Lanya and she’s grimacing at him, he doesn’t lose his calm. 

 

“How goes the love life?” Uncle James teases like always, though he’s smiling nicely enough when he asks. It hasn’t escaped his notice that he’s the only one at the table that isn’t married or getting there- though Rosalie doesn’t count, she’s 24, for God's sake- and his smile just barely slips as he tilts his head, embarrassed but used to it. “Nonexistent. You know how it is, work’s too busy.” He says it with a flick of his wrist, fork still firmly in place as he shrugged, like  _ what can you do _ ? Lanya snorts, derisive as always. He can feel the comment coming before she manages to think it up, and he makes sure he’s staring at his plate rather than her when she laughs. “What, still? That was what you said last time, Cullen. You can’t expect that excuse to work forever.” She probably doesn’t necessarily mean anything wrong by it, either, but Cullen still feels his jaw flexing before he can stop himself. 

 

He makes himself spear another bite on his fork, bringing it up and chewing in silence as the conversation has stopped, as if they all expect him to say anything. Like he  _ could _ . What was he supposed to say? Oh, you’re right, Lanya, I actually meant to say that I haven’t even tried! Not a single date in three years, Lanya, how astute of you to notice! The hand on his knee clenches just a touch too hard, enough to drag him out of that train of thought and back to the present. He’s overreacting. Like always. Cullen forces himself to suck in a deep breath through his nose, eyes sliding sideways to where Mia is watching Elle, not him. By the time he looks up again, the conversation has moved on, and the disbelieving look on Lanya’s face has gone. God, sometimes he really wishes Martin hadn’t married her. 

 

He excuses himself when his plate is empty, giving Mia some empty excuse about finding a bathroom when she looks up at him searchingly. She lets him go, thank god, and he clenches his fists in his pockets as he walks out of sight, trying hard not to let his pace quicken and give away how badly he wants to get the hell out of there. He regrets leaving almost immediately, and he grumbles under his breath as he walks out past the pool and the beach bar, feet sinking into the sand before he realizes where he’s going. He rubs a hand over his face, staring out at the water as it slides peacefully in toward land. There are a few chairs off to the side, about halfway between the pathway and the water, and he walks over there before he can second guess himself. 

 

There’s a man laying sprawled out on the reclining chair a few steps off from him, face down and clearly enjoying his rest. Cullen pays him little mind, at first, expression stony and shoulders still too-tight. It’s all he can do to throw himself into the chair, almost crumpling in on himself with the effort not to shout his frustrations. The alcohol from before sits heavy on his tongue, now, and the only thing that feels even remotely calming is the sound of the waves and- and-

 

He blinks over at the man passed out beside him. He’s making the strangest noise in his sleep, like he’s choking as he drags breath into his lungs. Cullen stares, all the anger and fight going out of him, and then realizes after a moment that he’s staring and throws himself back into staring at the water. The tension is gone now, though, and he unfurls himself- puts both feet into the sand and works on scuffing the toe of his boot through it. He rolls his shoulders a few times before sliding his hands back along the length of the chair behind him. The moon is only a half crescent in the sky, and the way the light bounces off the rippling water catches his eye. He stares out at it, losing track of time as the waves become an almost all encompassing noise in his ears. There’s nothing but the night sky and the water, melding together far off in the distance. No family members prying too-hard into his business, or laughing at his discomfort. Nobody judging his life choices or questioning why he’s still alone at fucking thirty seven. Just the water, and the sand, and him. 

 

Cullen’s working his way up to a luxurious sigh, eyes slowly slipping closed. “It’s not every day I awaken alone to a gorgeous man.” A voice practically purrs off to his left, and it’s all Cullen can do not to yelp as he flinches back, leaning hard on his right hand to get away from whoever is suddenly speaking. He blinks across at the man that had been passed out mere moments ago, eyes wide. He’s got a lithe face to match his match-stick body, all sinewy, coiled strength there. He’s still sprawled out across the chair, legs all akimbo beneath him, but now he’s turned his head up to look at Cullen. His face is appraising, one brow poised up, almost accusatory. There’s a mustache nestled there, and Cullen finds himself staring at it more than at the man’s eyes, sort of surprised it still looks to be mostly coiffed and in place considering he was face down moments prior. And then Cullen realizes that the mustache is right above pert lips, curled up in an almost predatory smile, and he’s turning and staring at the ocean again, shoulders locked up and hunched around his ears. 

 

“And it’s even rarer that the gorgeous man I’m all alone with is more interested with the water than with me. Really, now, you’ve seen one beach, you’ve seen them all.” The man continues, and Cullen can  _ feel _ the heat on his face, in his ears. He finds himself suddenly blissfully thankful that it’s dark out, that this stranger can’t see how red he no doubt is. “I-is that so?” He practically squeaks, voice pitched higher than normal. He coughs, trying to regain some semblance of control, and peeks another look over. “Do you normally stare at sleeping men?” Cullen asks, shoulders slowly returning to their normal position as his voice returns to its distinctive tone, only slightly strangled in delivery. His surprise is starting to bleed out of him, and the longer they sit in silence staring at one another, the longer he has to get his act together. 

 

Just two guys. Talking about- about nothing. Two guys on vacation, sharing solitude on the beach. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. 

 

The man barks out a laugh, as if pleasantly surprised by what Cullen’s said, and his brows twitch on his forehead. Cullen smiles shakily, though it no doubt comes off looking like a twisted grimace instead. Rosalie always said it did, at least, and she wasn’t the sort to beat around the bush. But the man doesn’t say much about it, just stares for a long moment, as if waiting for him to say something. Not that he has anything to say, not really. Clearly, the man refuses to let things lie. “Oh, no, certainly not.” He says, voice dancing with teasing humor. “I’m more the sort to dine and dash, if you catch my drift.” He’s being teased, he  _ knows _ it. He hasn’t the foggiest what for- he hadn’t done anything untoward, had he?- but he can tell when someone’s looking down their nose at him. It happens often enough, after all. He sniffs, as if deeply offended, and it makes the man laugh all over again. 

 

The shakiness of the laugh is what makes him pause, though, indignant reproach forgotten. There’s something... not necessarily  _ off _ about the man, but something catches at the edge of his awareness and makes him turn to look at him.  _ Actually _ look, too. He can’t make out much of anything in the dark like this, but he remembers suddenly the way the guy was gone from the world before, and the way he talks too loud and fast in the few moments he’s been conscious. 

 

“Hey-” Cullen starts, lips parted and ready to ask after his well being before he stops, head tilting, assessing. The man’s bravado has left him under Cullen’s searching look, smile slipping slowly. “You alright?” He asks, finally, and the man swings from jovial to bristling anger within the blink of an eye. He jumps to defend himself, raising both hands out as if to ward him off from attacking. 

 

“Not that it’s- I mean, it’s none of my business. But you were passed out, there, when I sat down.” Cullen says, and the man starts in almost instantly when he falls silent, leaning forward on his elbows and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re right, it  _ is _ none of your business.” It’s just short of a snarl, and Cullen leans back, lips twitching down into a confused frown. They’d barely been speaking for more than a few minutes, and they’d already cycled through so many emotions that he was feeling whiplash. The jet lag from this morning is catching up with him, his head feeling fuzzy and heavy, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep up with all the turns the conversation as taken. 

 

He sinks in on himself, too-large body folding in before he stands, sudden and sharp. He doesn’t have to put up with this. They’re complete strangers, and today has  _ sucked _ , and even on a good day he would have had no obligation to grin and bear it. He wouldn’t do it with his family, and he sure as  _ hell _ wouldn’t with a drunk on the beach. Cullen frowns down at the man, who looks surprised at the sudden movement, and then sighs, gusty and exhausted. He opens his mouth, something scathing on the tip of his tongue, but as he breathes in to start Branson calls his name from the path. His shoulders hunch before he can stop them, expression clouding further, and he can’t even bring himself to be disappointed that the man has front row seats to his shitty meltdown. 

 

“Cullen!” Branson shouts again, not moving out onto the sand but raising his hand to wave. “C’mon, dude, why the hell are you out there?” His voice is raised, carrying out over the distance, and Cullen forces himself to stare at the sand instead of the man’s pretty face gone tight with confusion and fear. He turns quick on his heel and shuffles over, shoving his hands in his pockets and only looking up when Branson claps a hand on his shoulder, laughing already. “Dude, why’d you run off like that? Uncle Jonathan got worried.” He’s talking a mile a minute, and Cullen just shrugs, allowing himself to be manhandled toward the bar. 

 

A group of girls shuffle past them toward the beach, looking around keenly, but Cullen pays them little mind and they don’t stop as Branson rattles off all that had happened since his departure. Cullen grunts and shrugs where it’s required, Branson filling the silence like he always did when it was just the two of them. His laugh is raucous as he pulls Cullen along, ambling through the bar and toward their rooms. Cullen can barely keep his relief from his face when it becomes apparent his brother’s in a completely different building than him. They stop in front of the door, Branson continuing to discuss the plans for tomorrow, and Ava opens the door, a polite smile on her face when she sees Cullen. And then, thank  _ god _ , Branson’s heading in and Cullen can leave. 

 

He moves slowly down the walkway, eyes unseeing as they pass over the ground and then out to the ocean to his right, the only sound the muffled voices inside their rooms and the crash of the waves. The last building sits entrenched in shadows before him, the lights and sounds of the resort fading away and being swallowed up by the trees that dip down from the mountains that the building sits nestled up against. The tension in his shoulders is slowly bleeding away, chaos and drama of the day left behind with the rest of the resort as he pulls his wallet and shoves the keycard into the lock. He doesn’t even change when he gets in, face planting on the bed and then tiredly pushing his shoes off with one foot and then the other. And then exhaustion takes him, and all thoughts of tomorrow leave alongside his consciousness. 

**Author's Note:**

> i have no one to blame but myself. hmu @ succwagon on twitter if you see any errors or want to give feedback. or to just party hard.
> 
> ps the title comes from city girl's contour which set the vibe for the fic thanks.


End file.
